Druggies, Dumpers Wreck Riverside Refuge

A wonderland created by fishermen, gardeners and scrap collectors on the Quinnipiac River’s banks has given way to weeds, trash and drug use.

“Shantytown,” a colorful encampment in Fair Haven, had charmed neighbors since it was first erected on an abandoned gravel lot in 2005. Located at the end of Poplar Street, just past River Street, the quiet, outdoor spot featured a carpeted walkway, chairs and a grill for fishermen, amateur paintings of blue and white fish and striking arrangements of roadside junk. New Haven’s own example of outsider art, the public paradise built by Curtis Libert, a Trinidadian immigrant, looked like a down-scale version of Simon Rodia’s Watts Towers or Leonard Knight’s Salvation Mountain.

Over the past month, that idyll has deteriorated. Drug users raided the shantytown for marketable knick-knacks and smashed the wall of Libert’s first-aid station to create a crack-smoking den. The garden, once sprouting with tomatoes and pumpkins, is overgrown. Flags and mobiles that twirled in the wind have been felled, and their poles now lie among heaps of illegally dumped trash beside a factory that closed. And Libert hasn’t been spotted for months.

Here’s the official version of what happened to the community gem: ​“New, private owners of what had been a blighted parcel at 90 River St. recently cleaned up the property and grounds,” said city spokesman Laurence Grotheer. ​“City workers then positioned concrete barriers to deny motor vehicle access and prevent additional, illegal dumping on the property and mitigate other public health and safety violations.”

A local company, Suraci Metals, used to operate at 90 River. The place became a mess as well as an illegal dumping magnet after it closed up shop.

The assessor’s records show that the property last changed hands in November 2015. MLF River LLC, a shell company for Maverick Real Estate Partners, a Manhattan private equity fund manager, paid $450,000 for the land — far below the city’s $2.7 million appraisal.

That’s likely because the last owners faced foreclosure, after a judge penalized Bruno and Marc Suraci’s metal finishing company with $750,000 in fines for alleged violations of state environmental rules.

(After taking control of the property, MLF River LLC sued the city in June 2015 to appeal its tax rates; the company won a settlement in April 2016, shaving a million dollars from its appraisal.)

Maverick’s asset management director, Ted Martell, did not respond to several inquiries Tuesday evening about future plans for the site. The Livable City Initiative (LCI), New Haven government’s neighborhoods anti-blight agency, has been working with the new owner to keep the property clean as it is prepared for a resale. The city put in the four blocks of concrete to keep illegal dumpers from pulling up to the waterfront.

Daniel and Pedro Alvarado, two homeless brothers who camp out in the field east of Shantytown, said the area fell into disrepair after Libert disappeared for several months. The brothers haven’t seen him on the site since last fall.

“When I seen all this trash, I knew Curtis was gone,” Daniel Alvarado said.

The Independent tracked Libert down after reaching out to his family on Facebook and paying a visit to one friend. Libert’s been unavailable for the last six months while completing a Columbus House program to transition out of homelessness, and he’s now occupied by applying for a green card to give him permanent residency status. He’s living with his mother, ​“staying away from trouble,” he said.

Libert ​“always seemed to be there when he needed to be: to bring someone back or help kids go fishing,” said Carmen Curtis, his friend of two decades. ​“He saved a lot of lives down there. He put his little heart into it.”

Instead of repaying the favor, no one kept the park going while he was away, a peeved Libert told the Independent in a clipped phone conversation. ​“The people of New Haven messin’ it up,” he said. ​“It’s up to them, not me. I was doing the best I can.”

Libert’s friends have tried to reassure him that he can always start over again. ​“You can put those flowers back in the ground. You can always rebuild,” one buddy said.

But Libert won’t listen: He’s soured on Shantytown, on the supposed community he thought existed there. He refuses to even see the damage. ​“I’ll never go back again,” he said.

Libert likely knew that his departure would mean the end of his vision. In 2015, he told the Independent, ​“The police told us, If I ain’t here, they’re going to feel nobody’s here and they’re going to want to take the place over then.” Without his watchful eye guarding the waterfront, that seems to be exactly what happened, as the city recently stepped in.

Alvarado, 53, an Army National Guard veteran who’s been homeless since 2004, when he was incarcerated on a domestic violence charge, said that the roadblocks haven’t deterred crime. Patrol cars must park a ways back from Shantytown’s entrance, giving drug users a head start to scram before the cops walk up, he said. And a vacancy at the factory, which was occupied until recently by NikLyn Corp. and their security guards, has left an additional void in the area, he added.

Farther down Poplar Street, near Chapel, however, business owners said the barriers had calmed traffic. The number of the cars on the street had dropped from over two dozen to just a handful, estimated Brendan Regan, president of a scrap metal recycling company. There’s still drinking — maybe, worse — going on at the river’s edge, added Ralph Fuentes, owner of Auto Authority. ​“As long as it doesn’t interfere with me, I say, ​‘Who am I to judge?’”

Disappointed as he was at the park’s fate, Alvarado said Shantytown couldn’t be revived. ​“This is done. I don’t consider it safe for anyone,” he said. ​“I bet you this summer, they’ll find a couple dead people here.”

In its place, Alvarado said he hoped the city would build a boardwalk at the popular fishing spot and crack down on any loiterers. ​“No fishing license: then, what are you doing here?” he suggested police officers ask.

Could the city do anything with the land? ​“I cannot comment on that possibility as it is something that would require multiple departmental reviews and significant funding,” said Rebecca Bombero, the head of parks and recreation. She pointed out that fishermen can cast their lines in plenty of places nearby: the pier at Tomlinson Bridge, the platform at Criscuolo Park and, soon, from a pier at Ft. Hale Park. ​“There are currently no other plans on the table,” she added.

Fans of the unauthorized park are already mourning its passing.

Patricia Kane, a high-profile local attorney, said the colorful refuge in an industrial zone of warehouses and vacant fields had been one of her favorite spots to visit. Kane remembered the waterfront strip as ​“a home-made park and garden tended by an assortment of locals” that had been ​“adorned with found objects.” The land burst with fruits, veggies and flowers ​“in abundance,” she wrote in an email.

“It was magical and blooming,” Kane added. ​“Now it’s lost.”